


Dragonborn

by Lines_of_Pain_and_Glory



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Crack premise written in such a way as to attempt to make it less cracky, F/F, Mythological Bestiality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2018-03-07 10:23:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3171380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lines_of_Pain_and_Glory/pseuds/Lines_of_Pain_and_Glory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were stories, ancient tales, that a maid might be offered up to sate a dragon’s wrath.  If the White Walkers were real, why might there not be some truth in these tales too?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dragonborn

“Your Grace.” The girl…girl? She was no younger than Daenerys herself and yet she seemed so very young, her eyes bright and her cheeks flushed as she dipped into a low curtsy.

“Lady Tyrell,” she said coolly, feigning full attention to sky where Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion swooped and dove, their wings glittering in the sun as they played at war. It would not be play again too soon.

“Margaery, please,” she demurred.

Daenerys had heard only three things of Margaery Tyrell: that she was very beautiful, that she was very clever, and that she was very eager for power. The first was certainly true; she didn’t doubt the other two.

“You must be very proud.” Margaery’s gaze followed hers. “Three fine sons, great warriors all, or so they tell.”

Daenerys smiled faintly, disarmed in spite of herself. “They are my pride and joy…and greatest heart and headache, like any mother I suppose.”

Margaery nodded solemnly. “If I may be so forward, Your Grace, have you given any thought to making matches for them?”

“Now you are being absurd, Lady Tyrell,” she said, no long amused.

“I mean no offense, Your Grace, but they call the Targaryens the blood of the dragon. I know of only one means by which one comes by blood.”

“You’re mad,” Daenerys said flatly, thinking of the ferocity she had seen from the great beasts.

Margaery lowered her eyes. “Perhaps, Your Grace. I have risked worse.”

They said the Baratheon boy was more than a tyrant, he was a monster.

“Think on it?” the girl asked quietly, almost a plea. “You will need heirs, if you are to rule as king, Your Grace.”

 

Once planted in her mind the thought plagued her. The witch’s curse had left her barren and there were only very distant Targaryen relatives surviving. The usurpers had seen to that. Was such a solution even possible?

When she dared to ask, her maesters all agreed perhaps it was. There were stories, ancient tales, that a maid might be offered up to sate a dragon’s wrath. If the White Walkers were real, why might there not be some truth in these tales too? But the old men said these things with bright beady eyes and licked lips that repulsed her.

 

“Leave us.” She commanded. When she saw hesitation, she repeated angrily. “Go! I will not have my wedding night be made some sordid spectacle.”

Her bride watched the guards retreat with apprehension.

“They would be of no help to you if this goes bad.” She laid her hands on the trembling shoulders cloaked in black and red. The tales were not so clear on whether it was common for the maid to survive these encounters. “Do you still wish to go through with this?”

Margaery squared her shoulders defiantly. “A lady must give her lord an heir.” With surer hands she undid the clasp of the cloak, letting it fall to the stone floor to reveal her nakedness. “I am ready.”

Margaery, brave and clever, beautiful and kind. She feared she might grow to love this woman as she had not loved since…she could not think of that. “No you are not, but I shall make you ready.” Daenerys coaxed her down onto the pile of furs, stroking her fingers through her silken hair.

“Four weddings and I’ve never got this far.” Margaery laughed shakily as they broke their second kiss.

“Did you love any of your husbands?” It was a foolish thing to ask she supposed and yet she asked it.

“Tommen was only a child. Joffrey?” Margaery just shuddered, making a face. “But Renly? I loved the idea of Renly.” She smiled wistfully. “He was handsome and gallant and made all the other girls at court so dreadfully jealous of me.” Her smile faded. “But I no more wanted to go to his bed than he wanted me there. We suited each other in that way… What of you, Your Grace? Do I suit you?” Margaery stretched out in the furs glancing coquettishly up through her lashes, clearly well aware of her charms. “Do you find me pleasing?”

“I am Daenerys Stormborn, Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains, Queen of Meereen, Princess of Dragonstone, and Mother of Dragons and I could take whomever I liked as my consort.” While not entirely true, she had had a long list of candidates who were acceptable…politically, personally? She reached out, trailing her fingers up Margaery’s side to cup one soft breast possessively in her hand. “Since I chose you, you may assume it pleases me.”

Margaery blushed a pretty pink. “I am glad I do not disappoint, Your-”

“Dany, please,” she couldn’t bear such formalities tonight.

Margaery smiled. “Dany, last jewel of old Valyria, Lady-Lord and lover mine.”

“Margaery,” Dany echoed trailing a hand down the plane of her belly, “most beautiful rose in all the Seven Kingdoms, My Consort, My Queen.”

Margaery sighed as Dany’s fingers explored the petals between her legs spreading the dew across her womanhood. “Sweetling, will you say it for me once more?”

“My Queen.” Dany whispered in her ear.

Margaery gasped with such pleasure she could not stop there. “Your Grace. Queen Margaery. Mother of Kings. Whose progeny shall sit the Iron Throne until we are as the First Men are to us.”

“You must think me dreadfully foolish.” Margaery blushed more darkly, biting her lip and looking down.

“Only to be ashamed.” Dany cupped Margaery’s face in her other hand, turning her lips up to her own, and kissed her deeply. “A woman without ambition is like a ship without sails.”

Margaery laughed breathily. “Then no port shall be safe from us, My Love.” She laid a hand gently over Dany’s. “Come, we will have time enough for pleasures. Let this be done.”

Daenerys sighed regretfully, wishing she could have lain in Margaery’s place to spare her this.

 

“I have a gift to share with you, but you must be gentle.” She led Viserion towards the half-ravished woman on the furs. He slunk over to her, scales scraping across the stone floor. He sniffed at her face and hands and feet and then he put his nose right between her legs and nuzzled, breathing more harshly.

“That feels so strange…” Margaery whispered, holding perfectly still in apprehension.

Then Viserion pulled his head back suddenly and sneezed, a little puff of smoke, shaking his head violently. Daenerys had to will herself not to try to come between them as Viserion pounced on Margaery, foreclaws holding her down by the shoulders, but thankfully not slashing. He sheathed himself in her with one hard thrust and Margaery wailed. They had known a dragon’s member would be large for any woman, far worse for a maiden. Daenerys could smell the metallic stench of blood soaking into the furs as Viserion forced himself in and out of her faster and faster building to a frenzy. It was over mercifully quickly, the dragon’s roar drowning out Margaery’s sounds of anguish. Then Viserion slunk back into the shadows curling up to sleep. Daenerys rushed to Margaery’s side, cradling her, bushing the hair from her tear-streaked face.

“How badly are you hurt? Do you need the maesters at once?” She was loath to let those filthy old men see her wife like this.

Margaery shook her head, curling up into a ball. “It burns. Their seed burns terribly, but the pain is lessening and it seems to have closed the wound.” Indeed no fresh blood was seeping into the furs from between her tightly clenched legs.

Daenerys rocked her gently. “I am so sorry.”

Margaery rested a hand on her belly, still shaking her head, looking up at Dany with glistening eyes. “I am not, Your Grace.”

Nine months later the midwives laid a flaxen-haired, violet-eyed babe in her arms, Olenna Targaryen, Dragonborn, Future Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Heir to the Seven Kingdoms and the Great Grass Sea and Meereen and Dragonstone.

**Author's Note:**

> This basically started out as a thought experiment inspired by the Cracked article “5 Shockingly Insane 'Game of Thrones' Fanfiction Sex Scenes” by Mark Hill. I went wait…no one’s written dragon!sex? How can that be? Then I thought, ok, if someone held a gun to my head and said, “You must write the least cracky story you can come up with where someone has sex with a dragon!”, what would I write? And then this happened. It could be wildly incompatible with the mythology of the books since I’ve only seen the show.


End file.
